


Amnesia

by wakey wakey (CameronFaneron)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Multi, Psych Ward, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier Has Anxiety, Richie Tozier Has PTSD, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Stanley Uris Is Mute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameronFaneron/pseuds/wakey%20wakey
Summary: Richard Tozier, at the age of sixteen, was check into a psych ward after suffering from amnesia and not being able to remember anything from the past four months that got him thrown into the ward in the first place.Then a mystery kid begins to visit him weekly, he begins to realize just what he did to deserve his time in this sterile prison.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter & Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Sense Of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061229) by [trecoolio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trecoolio/pseuds/trecoolio). 



> Yeah so if you haven’t read the sense of me, go do that because it’s amazing :)))

“Richie! Wake up, it’s breakfast time.” 

Richie Tozier grumbled in response, hissing at the feeling of sunlight. Nurse Kioko has drawn the blue and black curtains besides his bed, letting the natural morning flood the room. 

“Rise and shine, Richard Tozier.”

Despite her call, Richie remained rooted in his bed, for it was way too comfy for him to even think of wanting to get up. Seeing him still lying in bed made Kioko tsk. 

“Richie, get up. We do this every morning, and you know I have to tend other kids besides yourself.”

No response. 

Kioko sighed. Every morning, it was the same. 

In one fell swoop, Kioko grabbed the corner of a pristine white sheet and beige comforter, whisking the fabric off of Richie’s half-dead form. The rush of cold air made him squeal and arc off the bed in shock. He bolted upright, rubbing his eyes, trying to see where Kioko was standing. She handed him his round wire-frame glasses. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” She smiled sweetly. He squinted at her accusingly. 

“You are so cruel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she set the sheets down on the corner of his bed. “Now run along and get your scrubs on. Your Daily Drama Queen Routine has knocked around ten minutes off of your shower time and 8 hours off my life.” 

* * *

  
  
“I don’t understand, Stanley.” Richie sighed, taking a bite of his peanut butter sandwich. “I’m obviously awake, bein’ nice and all. Then she pulls the cozy sheets off of me? Who does that?!” 

They were eating breakfast together in the small common room at a round wooden table. Stan has pushed aside his half-eaten food in favor of his Rubik's Cube, a gift from his father. It was like this every day: Stan would barely eat and would start doing something nerdy, while Richie talked his ear off and ate Stan’s leftovers. Stan was an averagely built boy with curly blonde hair, only a year or so younger than Richie- just a grade below. He was admitted four weeks prior to the current day, making him a fairly new patient. His sentence was only two months, while Richie was in the middle of his third out of four. Stan will make it out a little bit before Richie, so he has to make the best of Stan’s company. 

The thing about Stan was that he didn’t speak. As for the reason why, Richie didn’t know, but he was a great audience. Even without vocals, Stan ended up being sarcastic and crude anyway. And besides, he wore that dumb, way-too-big scarf around his neck and face anyway. 

Stan shot Richie an accusatory look. 

Richie shrunk under the stare. “I know, I should’ve gotten up but she  _ knows _ how I absolutely  _ hate- _ “

Stan’s look grew firmer. 

“Fine.” Richie conceded, throwing his hands up in defense . “I was being a bitch. As per usual.”

The younger seemed satisfied and continued to solve the puzzle. Richie took a few more bites in the silence when Stan suddenly stood up and sped over to the bin where the facility housed their games. When Stan came back, he was accompanied by a chess board. He began setting up the chess board meticulously, placing each piece perfectly in the center of each square on the grid. Richie was indignant, letting out a sharp gasp. He glared at Stanley, who was obviously holding back his mirth. 

“Staniel, you little crapstick. You know how much I suck at this.” 

Stan gave him a look that essentially said ‘see if I care.’ Richie smirked, a gleam of challenge in his eye. 

“So be it. Staniel Agatha Uris, our battle will be legendary.” 

Stan rolled his eyes. His name wasn’t Agatha and he was obviously going to beat Richie. Again. Most likely fairly quickly. Not to quickly, since Stan’s turns always took so long because every time he moved a chess piece, he would keep redoing the turn until he deemed the piece placement and movement ‘perfect’.

* * *

To nobody’s surprise, except maybe Richie’s, the trashmouth did end up losing extremely quickly at the long and thoughtful game of chess. 

* * *

“It's okay, Richie,” Kioko chided from beside him. “Nobody’s here. No one can get you here, Richie. You’re safe, Richie.” 

Richie trembled on the tile of his room’s bathtub. In one hand, he grasped Nurse Kioko’s hand, and in the other he held an ice cube loosely. Kioko’s hand was warm enough to feel like it was burning, and the ice made his other hand go numb. It was perfectly okay, however. Richie needed the feelings. It grounded him.

Anxiety attacks were not unusual. In fact, they became a common occurrence ever since he had been admitted to St. Penn. Richie didn’t know why he was in the hospital, and could never remember the day he was admitted. He couldn’t even remember the incident in which he was deemed ‘insane enough’ to be here. More than anything, Richie wanted to go back to his house. He had so many more attacks there, but it was better than the sterile he’ll he now called home.

Today was one of his worser days. The anxiety was debilitating, and he couldn’t barely move or breathe or think properly. Beforehand, his body moved on autopilot, and he felt as though he were walking through a nightmare, numb and scared. He laid in the tub and shook softly, staring at a wall. He felt as though he were only an observer, watching his body do whatever it wanted. There was nothing he could control about his movements, and he felt like a ghost seeing its dead body move on its own. 

Kioko had found him a minute in, and left the room, only to come back with a fresh pair of scrubs, his iPod and headphones, and a small glass with two ice cubes. 

They sat in silence until Richie felt the weight on his chest release and he was able to move again. It was as if his consciousness re-entered his body, and he gained back control. Kioko, who Richie was ever so grateful for, picked up his iPod and scrolled through his music until she found the treasure. A playlist full of Weezer songs. To Richie, Weezer felt more like home than his actual house did.

She set the iPod down and held out his headphones for him to grab. He shook his head jerkily, so Kioko placed each bud into his ears gently for him. Turning the volume down and pressing play, they sat there in the bathroom in silence. 

Richie ended up calming down enough to stand and lie down on his stuff bed with his iPod, but he couldn’t speak or think. His mind, mouth, and body felt like molasses: slow and sticky. 

His attacks always happen during the physical activity time. Richie has entered the hospital after suffering a great panic attack at his school. He doesn’t remember when or what happened during his attack, but it was bad enough that he crashed hard enough right after that he suffered amnesia. Nothing from that day was retained in his memory, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

He didn't realize Stan had walked into his room around ten minutes after he had laid down. Stan had been searching for him after his gym time, fully intending to watch My Girl together for the third time. He padded over to the elder’s bedside, watching Richie’s still face. Richie eyes locked into Stan, who then in turn grabbed a miniature notebook from the pocket of his scrub.

_ Watch My Girl?  _ He had scrawled in his angled, all-capitals handwriting. 

Richie took a second to comprehend the words on the paper. He had been fully prepared to say no, but hanging with Stan while watching My Girl sounded like heaven right now. 

“Mmkay,” he slurred. “Ya hafta’ help me up.” 

Looking to Nurse Kioko for consent, to which she nodded with a smile, Stan stood and held his hand out for Richie to grab for leverage. 

* * *

  
After Richie had completely come back from his catatonic headspace, he obviously cried during My Girl. He was a sucker for the movie, he always cried. Thankfully, Stan brought a small to-go packer of tissues. Stan shed some(only a few,) tears during the movie as well. 

* * *

The following day presented itself to be a really good day from the beginning. Today, a different nurse, Nurse Esther, woke him up, to which he pleasantly glided out of bed without complaint. The morning felt like a breeze, as he got dressed in record time and practically danced into the commons, where he grabbed his usual sandwich and juice. Gilded into his usual spot with Stan, he mused to him about the grace he was feeling and then proceeded to play chess. Whereas he usually lost immediately, today, he was actually able to capture one of Stan’s rooks, to which Stan gave him a shocked smile before promptly knocking out his Queen with his rook. He knocked on the table three times to signal the checkmate. 

Physical time is never easy, but Richie pulled through it. He was accompanied by a kind aide, Mr. Mike Hanlon, who helped keep him calm and pushed through the tedious hour. Mike was tall and gruff, with dark skin and the startings of a large beard. He looked mean, but Richie grew to learn he was very kind and wisened beyond his years. 

“What happened to Ben? Ben Hanscom?” Richie has asked at some point during his walk with Mike around the track. “He was the old orderly here. I guess you could say he was more fun than you, because he was so easy to mess with.” Mike let out a hardy chuckle at that. 

“I can’t say I approve of your habit of ‘messing around’ with the aides,” he smiled, to which Richie flushed with embarrassment. “But I will admit he is easy to mess with. His wife, Ms. Marsh, went into labor late last night.”

Richie gaped. “That big nerd is married? Married enough that he has kids?!” To that, Mike guffawed. 

“You are a hoot, Tozier.”

* * *

After physical activity came TV time and visiting time. Stan and Richie were in their normal spots. Today, the patients were watching The Sandlot.

“Richard! You have a visitor!” One of the aides, Mrs. Chadia, called into the game room. Stan stood to allow an excited Richie to pass. Pure excitement gleamed in his eyes, since he only ever got one visitor. His father. 

Wentworth Tozier was a tall and slender man, middle-aged with a five o’clock shadow. Like his son, he wore circular frames glasses and was often dressed smartly, looking more like a businessman than a Jewish father. 

As Richie exited the room with Chadia, he asked: “Why is my dad here again? He visited two days ago, or whatever.” 

Chadia beamed at him, dimples showing. “It isn’t your father today, kid,” they arrived at the doors to the visiting room. Richie frowned.

“So, my mom then.” His lip curled upwards with hope. Maggie Tozier has been radio silent since his admission. 

Chadia shook her head and pushed open the doors. “Nope. He says he’s one of your school friends.” 

This made Richie pause. He didn't have school friends besides Bill Denbrough, and ever since his little brother Georgie was kidnapped on school grounds, Bill was homeschooled. He has been since fourth grade. Maybe this was a project partner he forgot about, or a kid from the stage crew he was in who pitied him. He wouldn’t blame them if that were the case. 

However, upon entering the room, he found it to be neither of his expectations. In the room were five people, two of which he knew. At a small table, the eldest teen at the hospital, Patrick Hockstetter, was sitting at a table with who Richie suspected was his little brother, Avery. They were coloring in a book together, Patrick watching his brother draw silently while Avery jabbered on and on about school and how ‘Patty was right, school sucks’. 

Hockstetter was checked in long before Richie was, and much younger too. One day, while Richie was fidgeting with the fidget toys during quiet time, Patrick had flipped over a chair and began to scream. Richie learned from an aide who was supervising that day that Hockstetter was checked in for solipsism disorder, a disorder where Hockstetter believed he was the only real person in the world. 

Apparently, Patrick was twelve at the time and had lashed out at a two-year-old Avery. There are some details that the orderly left out, but it was safe to say that he wasn’t mentally stable enough to be around his family. Hockstetter is almost eighteen now, and he’s oddly quiet and stoic. Richie could tell he was fond of his brother now, and he wondered how he could’ve hurt his brother in any way. The two orderlies beside their table, monitoring them, however, proved otherwise. 

On the right side of the room is where Richie assumes he would find his special visitor. Sure enough, there was a boy there who looked around his age. He was short and scrawny, with slicked and combed brown hair and somewhat tanned skin. He had freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks and Richie wanted to say they looked a little bit like spots of dirt. The boy was sitting rigid in the chair, shifty brown eyes searching the room as if he were trying to avoid getting caught doing something bad. The kid looked so out of place in the room and so uncomfortable that it was laughable. When the doors had opened signaling Richie’s entrance, the kid's head snapped up and hunched in on himself, his hands obviously trembling from where they were folded on the table. 

Chadia nudged him in the kids direction. “He is the one with the brown hair. He wants to speak with you.” With that, Richie was pushed through the double doors, which closed gently behind him, preventing escape, leaving the boys to stare at each other. They stayed in silence, save for Avery Hockstetter’s unending chatter. 

Finally, Richie grew tired of being awkward and weird. He crossed the distance in two long strides and threw himself into the seat. He ended up sitting sideways, one arm draped over the back of the chair while the other rested on the table. His legs were crossed, and, in Richie’s opinion, he probably looked like a fool with his too big glasses and messy hair. 

“‘Sup.” Richie broke the silence

“Uh, ‘sup.” The boy responded, seeming a little miffed by Richie’s nonchalant greeting. He started biting his already-bitten-down nails. ‘ _ Nervous tic’,  _ Richie thought, shaking with mirth. ‘ _ Nice.’  _ The kid seemed to grow more tense and annoyed at his chuckles. Richie began to fidget by tapping four of his finger of the table. 

_ First finger, second finger, first finger, third finger... _

“Who are you?” Richie couldn’t stop himself from asking, adjusting in his chair so that he was sitting properly. “How old are you? Did I know you? What do you want.” The last question was phrased more as a response. The boy’s left eye twitched. 

_ First finger, fourth finger, first finger, second… _

“You don’t remember me? Really?”

_ First, third, first, fourth... _

“Nope.” Richie popped the ‘P’. When the kid frowned, brows furrowing, Richie thought it almost comical how quickly and naturally he was able to push this kid’s buttons. “I’ve never heard of you, kid. Maybe I saw ya before? I dunno.”

_ First, second, first, third, first, fourth… _

“Wow, okay.” The kid groaned. Richie was a lot more work than expected. “My name is Edward Kaspbrak, but most people call me eddie. So, there’s that.” He seemed to resign his name over to Richie in defeat. 

_ First, second, first, third, first, fourth… _

“Nice to meet ya, Eds.” Eddie seemed to fume at the nickname. “You know who I am, but I’ll introduce myself anyway. I’m Richard Tozier, but literally everybody except the nurses and orderlies call me Richie.” They sat in silence for a small moment before Richie continued. “How old are you? What grade? You didn’t answer most of my questions, dude.” 

_ 1, 2, 2- oops, messed up, start over- 1, 2, 1, 3, 1, 4…  _

“I can’t believe you don’t…” Eddie trailed off, looking deep in thought before continuing. “I’m your age.” Richie raised a brow, to which Eddie frowned. At least the tension his shoulders has lessened drastically. “I’m 16. Junior in highschool. Eleventh grade. Year before senior. Year after sophomore-“ 

_ 1, 2, 1, 3, 1- _

“-are you always so annoying?” Eddie’s knuckles rapped against the table space right next to Richie’s tapping fingers. “Stop tapping, you're giving me a headache.” At that, Richie curled in on himself from the embarrassment hitting him like a wave. He decided to sit on his hands. 

Most of his life he lived with undiagnosed ADHD, which meant untreated ADHD. However, when he was ten, he finally got diagnosed with the disorder and began taking prescribed medication to control the tics. Unfortunately, at the time, Richie had been getting bullied by the upperclassmen who, at lunch, stole Richie medication and threw it in the quarry. Of course now that he’s in St. Penn’s, it’s getting treated, but bad habits are a bitch to break. 

“Uh, ‘m sorry,” he mumbled. “Untreated ADHD is the worst, huh?” The self-deprecation was not missed by the other teen. 

Eddie’s eyes widened, his face filling with guilt and shame. “Oh god,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-“

At that moment, Chadia entered the room like a beautiful guardian angel, saving little Richie from the pity of Mysterious Eddie. “It is almost the kids’ lunchtime,” she spoke in her soft, candy-like voice. “They need to eat, so I am sorry, but I’ll have to ask the visitors to leave and hopefully come back soon for another visit.” She punctuated her announcement with a curt nod and a smile as she shut the doors behind her. 

Richie looked over at the Hockstetters. Avery had scooped his crayons into a box and hugged his brother’s waist tightly. 

“Bye, bye, Patty.” He heard Avery say. “I’ll see you next week at the same time, OK?” Patrick nodded and patted Avery on the back. 

“Okay, little guy.” With that, Avery left, yodeling something about not being ‘little, patty!’ Patrick only smiled and watched his brother leave.

“I guess this is where we say goodbye,” Eddie stood and grabbed his leather computer bag and sweater from over his chair. “I might see you again next week, but I just joined track, like, last week and I have this project-“

“Eddie.” Richie cut off Eddie’s breathy ramblings with only one question on his mind. “Why did you come over here? Is it pity? Were we friends or somethin’?”

Eddie shook his head. “Nope.” Infuriatingly, he also popped the ‘P’. “Goodbye, Richie.” 

Then, Eddie was gone, out into the world beyond the white walls of this hospital. 


End file.
